


Play

by havisham



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boredom, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Battle, Teenagers, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter benefits from Fred and George Weasley's troll altruism.</p><p>Written for Porn Battle XIV, with  the prompts: corrupting the innocent, come to play, and manipulative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play

Harry woke up stiff and his heart racing, already half-hard. His dreams, half-threatening, half-arousing receded slowly, leaving him restless. Across the room, Ron shifted in his sleep and sighed. Somewhere in the Burrow a clock ticked. The window looking out to the garden was still dark. Harry stumbled out to the hall, leaving his glasses on the bedside table. 

The way to the bathroom was thankfully clear and room itself unoccupied. In some ways staying at the Burrow was worse than at the Dursleys. Friendlier, certainly, but there were always so many people about. 

Harry’s reflection was a blur, washed out and pale. He bit his lip, a flash of red against white, and tried to summon up images that would get him going, to end this temporary torment. _Breasts? Possibly. Wet red hair, smooth skin. Yes. A curving mouth, a dusky constellation of freckles. Definitely._ He ended up rubbing one out, clutching at edge of the porcelain sink as he came. 

When he had cleaned up, washed and dried his hands, and closed the door behind him, he came face to face with -- Fred? George? A pale, freckled face and bright red hair, blurred. One of them anyway. 

The twin blinked and ruffled his already-tousled hair, stifled a yawn. “All right, Harry?” 

“Uh, yeah, fine.” Harry knew that he was blushing, but Fred (or George) didn’t seem to notice, slipping past him and closed the bathroom door. 

He was halfway down the hall when George (or Fred) opened the door again and said, in a low but carrying voice: “Harry? Don’t worry about waking up Ron next time. He sleeps like the dead.” 

With a muffled laugh, he closed the door. Harry fled back to Ron’s room, blood roaring in his ears.

  
*****

Summer settled into the Burrow, heat seeping into its timbers. There was light, everywhere, Harry could feel it dig into his skin. The house had been emptied, everyone going their own way, even Ron, who left reluctantly. Harry was left to his own devices.

He could wander the halls, sneak around to see how _ordinary_ wizards lived. Perhaps, if it wasn’t so hot, he would have. But now he lay on the sofa and stared at the white ceiling, examining the little cracks that ran this way and that. He was listless and bored, there was an itch somewhere in his body that he just couldn’t scratch. 

He felt miserable, he felt nothing, he felt as if he could tear off the head of the next person who spoke to him. 

As if on cue, the twins thumped down the stairs and blew past him with a whirlwind of noise and greeting, scuffling with each other and, at one point, ruffling Harry’s hair and snatching at his glasses. They laughed when he batted them away, half-heartedly. 

“Hello Harry,” said Fred, still grinning. 

“Still here, are you?” said George, with an exaggerated yawn. 

They disappeared into the kitchen before he could get a word in. 

Harry lay on the sofa for what seemed hours (though it couldn’t be that), waiting for his frustration to stop bubbling up, but it didn’t. It wouldn’t. He felt like he could breath fire -- his eyes alighted on the mantle where a row of dragon’s teeth rested -- a souvenir from Charlie-in-Romania. He went up to the mantle and touched them gingerly, remembering a story he had once read, of a hero planting dragon’s teeth into the earth and warriors springing out, fully-fledged and ready to fight him. 

But these things were cold and dull in his hands, lifeless. 

“What are you doing?” Fred’s arms were around Harry’s shoulders and he couldn’t help but startle. He hadn’t been paying attention, obviously. 

“What are you looking at?” George said, his chin resting on Fred’s arm. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, putting the teeth back on the mantle, and detangling himself from the twins, who exchanged sly, knowing glances. 

“You’re an odd bird, Harry,” said Fred. 

“Or _rara avis_ , as Percy would say,” said George.

“The pretentious git,” Fred agreed. 

Harry twitched and stirred, he wasn’t used to being touched so often and so casually, but the Weasleys seemed to touch and hug and kiss and all of that without a moment’s notice. Or any thought of asking for permission. Fred’s fingers were pushing through the thick thatch of Harry’s hair, thin fingers but strong ones. “I think you’re very bored, Harry. Am I right?” 

George’s eyes seemed to sparkle with unholy light. “We’re very bored too, aren’t we, Fred?” 

“Mind-numbingly bored.” Fred nodded, his lips grazing Harry’s ear. 

“How -- how can you be bored? You’ve got magic, everywhere, it’s -- you can do anything,” Harry said irritably. Except it seemed that even in a world with magic, teenagers could get bored with anything. 

Fred gave a sad little shake of his head, and a disappointed sigh. 

Harry licked his lips, which were dry and getting dryer. It was very hot, in the room, like there was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and sweat began to trickle down Harry’s shirt. The twins looked warm too, the freckles on their fair skin standing out. 

Idly, Harry wondered if all of their freckles were identical too, if they were truly a matched pair. 

Fred let him go and “Dunno. Isn’t it sad that You-Know-Who doesn’t ever try to kill you in the summertime?” 

“He’s so inconsiderate about Harry’s academic future, isn’t he?” 

Harry scowled at them, and he was answered by two equally silly grins. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of being so --?” 

“So what, Harry?” 

“I think Harry wants to shut us up, George.”

“Is that even possible, Fred?” 

“Is it, George?” 

“There is a way to shut us up _and_ relieve your boredom, Harry, if you’re willing to do it.” George wiggled his hips against Harry’s arse, and Harry blushed. Hot. 

“Has that line ever worked on _anyone_ , ever?” The sarcasm in his tone suffered somewhat when his voice cracked and broke. Harry gave little cough to cover his embarrassment and felt tremendous pressure build, right under his skin. 

“You’d be surprised,” Fred said, with flinty smile. 

One of them made a feign at his lips, as a joke (perhaps), but Harry, ever the Seeker, caught one sharp, pointy chin and kissed back, until they both stumbled back into the mantlepiece. Harry’s elbow swept the dragon’s teeth from their perch and they fell to the ground with a clatter. 

Fred muttered a charm to make the doors lock tight. Harry fumbled at the zippers of his jeans, until George laid a hand over his. He looked at Harry and said (somewhat hypocritically, but sincerely, all the same), “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?”

There was no trace of teasing in his voice. Well, perhaps there was a bit, but he was mostly serious. 

“I’m not a kid,” Harry spat out, angry, though also quite anxious to believed. 

The twins exchanged another look, inscrutable, and Harry sighed, ready to escape upstairs and pretend this never, ever happened when Fred gave a little shrug and George, a little nod, and they both pushed him back onto the sofa and opened up his trousers with a snap and snick. Harry’s cock bobbed up. Magic. 

And that was how it came to happen, with Fred between his thighs, licking lazy stripes on Harry’s cock and George kissing his face and his neck. He was trembling in the effort to keep from shouting, until George pushed in, his tongue into Harry’s mouth. 

He lost track of who was doing what, and only came to realize slowly that he had by this time lost both his trousers and his shirt, not to mention his underwear. His naked skin rubbed not-unpleasantly against the nubby fabric of the sofa. The twins were intent on him, it was almost frightening how synchronized all their efforts seemed to be. But they also touched each other as often as they did Harry, and he watched with stunned fascination as they kissed, easily, tongue and teeth, mirror images. 

Except Fred broke off and turned back to Harry with a lewd wink. 

They both fell upon him again. 

Harry thought, distantly and through a new hot flush of pleasure, how wonderful it must be to have freckles _everywhere_. He would, if he could, play connect-the-dots, from Fred’s cheek to George’s shoulder, back to a scatter of freckles on the back of Fred’s -- or George’s -- or perhaps both of their elbows, and to the tender base of their necks. 

“You won’t tell anyone about this? Right?” Harry asked, his voice high and breathy, coming in soft little gasps. 

Fred looked up, his face all soft edges (Harry’s glasses were perched neatly on the mantle). With a sorrowful wag of his head, he said, “Harry, Harry me boy, do we _seem_ like the kind of people who would kiss and tell?” 

“Um, yes, actually, you do.” 

“Nevermind that,” George said. “We can keep a secret as well as anyone.” 

“Three can keep a secret, if two are dead,” Fred said, cheerfully. 

Harry didn’t have time to reply, as there was thumps and noises from the upstairs, the stamping of many feet in front of the fireplace. Then there was a mad scramble to pull both the room and themselves in order, to charm away some tell-tale stains and to lift the lock on the door. 

In the midst of the rush, Fred touched the inside of Harry’s wrist. “Next time, it’ll be even better.” It was both an invitation and a promise. He grinned, supremely confident. 

“Next time, there’ll be more tricks,” Harry said, grinning back. 

“Can’t be so charitable all the time,” George, jumping in. 

With a shrug, Harry put glasses back on and breathed one long sigh of relief. 

An itch had been scratched.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Oshun and King Touchy for beta-ing.


End file.
